Tag Archives: Triple-A

You got a flat tire, you got to fix it, you got to do it yourself. You got to pull over, you need to look in the trunk, you know, assuming it’s a standard car, by which I mean, there should be a false bottom, like pull at the bottom of the trunk, OK, that’s usually not the real bottom, there’s another bottom, underneath, that’s where the spare is going to be. It’s usually just a donut, like a smaller tire. Don’t worry, it fits.

When I was in high school, I ran on a flat tire for like a whole day. The car still drove, I just couldn’t figure out why it insisted on drifting to the left. I figured it was a steering problem, like maybe I needed to get a new steering wheel or something. And I know you think that sounds ridiculous, a steering wheel problem, but it could have been true, because in high school I wanted a cool car so badly, and I didn’t know any better, I thought this meant like buying a pair of fuzzy dice for the mirror.

I bought this Knight Rider style steering wheel, it was like a video game steering wheel, it only had grips on the sides. I bought this thing on eBay, and I had no idea how to install stuff, so I asked my friend Nick, his cousin worked at a Best Buy garage, he assured me he knew how to install it. And I was a little skeptical, because I had previously used Nick’s services to install a CD player in the dash. It didn’t really fit right, like there was a huge gap in between the hardware and the car fixture, CDs would always get lost in that hole, but what could I do, he handed me the keys and he was like, “All right, she’s good to go. Two hundred bucks.”

And while I didn’t want to use Nick again, I could just imagine me going to a real auto garage, I’d walk in there with my novelty steering wheel, the mechanic’s face would be like trying not to laugh, like sure, I guess I should take this kid’s money. But are his parent’s going to get pissed off at me? Is this wheel even legal? At least Nick was somewhat closer to my age, and his car was totally tricked out, neon lights underneath, fuzzy dice hanging from his fuzzy dice.

I showed him the steering wheel and he was just like, “Sweet. I can do that. Two hundred bucks.” And he did it, it steered, although I couldn’t figure out which button was the horn, or maybe they were all supposed to activate the horn, and he just couldn’t get the connection right, I don’t know.

But when I got this flat tire, it just naturally occurred to me that it was a steering issue, that all I needed to do was to pull to the right, almost dramatically, and since there was no top to this wheel, you know, what this steering wheel added in coolness it definitely lacked in usability, I had to twist my arms uncomfortably to the other side. So pull, turn, and just a little heavier on the gas, and the car seemed to be driving fine.

Of course, it wasn’t fine, the front left tire was completely flat. But I didn’t know that’s why people were honking at me. I don’t know, and I couldn’t honk back, because, like I said before, no working horn, but eventually this one guy got my attention, he mouthed it out for me, “Flat! Tire!” and I pulled over.

I’d never changed a tire before, so there was a lot of trial and error, like you know that trick where you take off the screws before you jack it up? Yeah, I had no idea, the wheel just kept spinning as I tried to loosen the lug nuts. And that jack, I didn’t know there was like a certain spot. Whatever, this is all pretty basic stuff.

I got the donut on, I rode that thing way past its hundred mile suggested use. Finally my parents got on my case, “Get a real tire, now!” but I didn’t feel like digging into the comic book fund, so I went to some junkyard and bought an old one for like twenty-five bucks. Nick told me he knew how to do tires, but the two hundred dollar price tag was the opposite of what I was trying to do here, not spend any money.

So sometimes you just got to get dirty, you got to change your own tires, figure out yourself how those things get weighed. I’ve done it, I’ve been there man.

What? You have a Jeep? I don’t know, isn’t it on the outside of the back door. Yeah, the tire shaped covering with the “These Colors Don’t Run” graphic, yeah, that’s the spare. You have Triple A? You do? So what are you calling me for? You really want to hear stupid stories about my car from high school? Just call them up, that’s what you’re paying them for, I mean, you could do it, but they’re pros, they’ll have that thing changed in like two or three minutes.

I really think I’m going to get a motorcycle this summer. I’ve always imagined myself as the leader of a motorcycle gang. We’ll be called the Flaming Skull Heads. Either that or the Leather Jackets. Or the Biker Boys. No way, we won’t be boys, we’ll be men. The Motorcycle Men, that’s it. It’ll be equal opportunity, of course, applications available to both genders. I just won’t let any women in. I’ll claim that it’s just a coincidence that it’s all dudes. Every day I’m going get up and deck myself out in leather and chains. I’m going to grow a huge handlebar mustache. I’ll keep an even bigger chain to use as a weapon, because you don’t need to get a permit for a giant chain, and it’s technically not a weapon until I start using it like a weapon.

This gang is going to be huge, but I’m only going to let my most trusted biker friends in my inner circle. And even though I’ll have a great relationship with my boys, I’ll always be a little worried that one or more of them might get it in his head that he could do a better job leading the gang than I can. Obviously this won’t be true, but the unquenchable thirst for power is the same in everybody. I’ll have to keep my friends close, but I’ll have to keep them distant from each other. So I’ll be constantly telling one of them that everyone else is talking about him behind his back. I’ll make inner circles within the inner circle. And I’ll make an even inner inner circle where it’s just me, and it won’t even be a circle at that point, it’ll just be a single dot. I’ll be the inner dot. And I’ll do that and drive it home to every one of my boys, so they’ll only trust me and nobody else.

I’m going to learn so many motorcycle tricks. I’ll do all the classics: wheelies, screechies, no-hands, ghost-riding. But I’m also going to invent some of my own tricks. Like one of my new tricks is going to be me riding just a sidecar as it’s own standalone vehicle. It’ll look so crazy that people won’t believe it. I’m going to invent another trick where I’m riding the motorcycle but I’m sitting backwards instead of forwards. I’m also going to do that snowmobile trick where you start out on land, during the summer, and drive across a lake. But I’m going to do it on my motorcycle. I’m going to be the first person to ride a motorcycle up to Mount Everest. I’m going to send out April Fool’s Day postcards to all my boys of a photo where I’m carrying the motorcycle on my back, like it’s riding me.

When I buy my motorcycle, I’m sure the salesman is going to try and rope me into buying some sort of Triple-A protection plan. But I’m not going to fall for it. That stuff is always such a scam. Maybe it makes sense for cars, but if your motorcycle breaks down, you can just walk it home. One time I called up Triple-A when my car got stuck in a ditch somewhere. But I never did buy that Triple-A membership. So when the tow truck came and the guy asked to see my membership card, I just said, “What membership card? What are you talking about? Triple-A? I didn’t call any Triple-A.” but the guy already made the trip out here, so I asked if he could just do me a solid. He said fine, but only if I signed up for Triple-A right there, on the spot. So I said sure, but I instead of writing out my information, I wrote down all this information for a deli down the block from where I live. And where it said to fill out the credit card info, I just made up a bunch of random numbers. I had the tow truck bring the car and me to a different town, so the driver wouldn’t be able to track me down once he got back to the office and ran all of the fake info through his credit card machine. I thought I was in the clear, but after the tow-truck left, I realized that I had no way of getting back to my place in my town. I thought about calling Triple-A again, but I wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice in one night. I guess I didn’t really think it through. Also, I forgot about my license plates, because the tow truck guy must have written them down, because I keep getting bills in the mail from Triple-A.

That’s why I’m done with cars. On to motorcycles. I heard that motorcycle insurance is so cheap. If it’s that cheap, why should I even pay for it in the first place? I only like to buy expensive stuff. Anything that’s too inexpensive, I either refuse to buy, or I’ll make a counteroffer to the seller that’s much more expensive that the listing price. No way I’m spending money on motorcycle insurance. If I get into a motorcycle accident with a car, why should I have to pay anything anyway? Chances are, I’ll be the one sustaining the real damage. Plus, motorcycles have the right of way anyway. Everyone knows that.